


Quiet

by vesper_mucha



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugs, Everything is pretty much book compliant in regards to suicide/drugs/sex/internalized homophobia, Fluff without Plot, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sexual Repression, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21777397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_mucha/pseuds/vesper_mucha
Summary: Theo contemplates his future and Boris's role in it.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 101





	Quiet

Theo never thought he would live a long life. He couldn’t quite tell anymore if it was because of his suicidal tendencies or if it was some pre-existing notion in the back of his mind. But he had never been able to imagine himself as an old man. He couldn’t even imagine himself dying in a normal way, like from old age or cancer.

It changed a lot, whenever he imagined it, but there was one thing that always stayed the same. Boris was always there with him. Dying with him. He knew it was fucked up. He knew it was controlling, not that Boris could ever truly be controlled, but some part of him believed Boris wouldn’t be so cruel to let him go alone.

God it was so fucked up.

From the outside looking in, everything should have gotten better. The money, the guilt, the marriage. He did a little less drugs and drank a little less too. All the big things that were making him unhappy were gone. But he had always been unhappy, now he was just a little less so.

That wasn’t fair, he had been happy. He had been happy before the painting, and he had Frankensteined together some shape resembling happiness with Boris when they were kids.

The world was noisy. His brain was noisy. His dreams. His vision. His hearing. It could all be so fucking noisy.

Except with Boris.

Boris made things quiet.

Not because Boris was quiet.

But because Boris was too loud to let the noise in, it ran away from him. Frightened by his fearlessness. By his laughter. By his bright eyes.

And even in their quiet moments, when Boris had nothing more to yell or laugh about. When the noise would begin to creep its way back in. An embrace, a warm look, a shared cigarette, the right question.

Boris made things quiet.

Boris was back in New York. He called Theo to come out for drinks. When Theo hesitated Boris assumed Theo he had still not forgiven him, even after everything. He talked a mile a minute, he absolved himself of his sins, granted himself Theo’s forgiveness, and forgave Theo for leaving the way he did.

Theo told him to shut the fuck up and that of course he would come out.

Boris had read into Theo’s hesitation incorrectly, and had they been in person Boris would have likely zeroed in on what had truly caused Theo to hesitate. He was grateful the conversation had been over the phone.

Boris picked him up, despite Theo’s protests, it made him feel like - well, it didn’t matter. He only picked him up so he could come in and see Popper anyway.

They went to some bar filled with Russians and Polish, where everyone spoke with an accent and treated Boris with respect.

Boris asked him about everything, how buying back his fakes was going, Pippa, Kitsey, Hobie, everything.

Theo returned the favour, Boris’s life would always be somewhat shady, but a part of him was pleased to know that perhaps he was putting himself in less danger now.

He told Boris that Pippa was coming home for two weeks, and Theo wasn’t sure how prepared he was to see her again. He expressed his wariness to Boris, who never usually took the topic of women too seriously, but made the effort for Theo.

“I was wondering if…” but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, so Boris did.

“So you stay with me!”

Theo relaxed, it would be easier to make excuses. His best friend who lives abroad come to visit. It wasn’t a perfect story, but it was the only one he had, Boris was the only friend he had. How fucked up was that?

“This time my hotel has only one bed. But we will behave ah?” Boris was laughing, and maybe a little drunk. He knew Theo didn’t like him bringing up those things they did.

He didn’t know if old habits would reappear, he never let his mind linger on those memories. Half memories. Fleeting moments. Muscle memories almost. But he would not think of it. He couldn’t.

“Yes! I mean of course not, we aren’t - ” _gay_. He didn’t say it. But the word lingered between them. Boris half smiled at him, but Theo knew that was his poker face. When Theo didn’t continue, that face slowly turned much warmer and fond.

“Shots!” Boris announced, and though no waiter was near a moment later a bottle and a pair of glasses were delivered to their table.

They cheered one after another until they were both four shots in.

Theo allowed himself to lull in the warmth and numbness of the liquor. He laughed at Boris’s jokes and shared jokes of his own.

He suddenly regretted that they did not go to a hotel - not for that. Just so that they could be far louder and free, like when they were children. Chaos. But happy. Unrestrained. He briefly thought he should have invited him back to Hobie’s, but the idea overwhelmed him with anxiety and he quickly took another shot without cheering with Boris to chase it away.

They talked about Las Vegas, and Theo being slightly cruel poked and prodded at Boris as to why he hadn’t come. If he would have come if he hadn’t taken the painting. What could Theo have done to make him come with him, but Theo already knew the answer to that last question.

“I think, well, might have been a chance - had you stayed. Neither of us would have made it.”

It was not cruel or cutting, but the simple truth. Perhaps they would’ve started drug dealing together, perhaps they would have gone to jail, perhaps they would have finished school and Theo could have dragged Boris away to university - though the thought of Boris in university was amusing. Then he thought of what he could have done to convince Boris to come with him to New York - but for some reason, something in his soul told him that, that outcome might have most likely been bleak.

“Potter you tried so many stupid things in an attempt to die, I worried - worry perhaps now only that I understand better - that you would have only continued to try. And when you succeeded. I don’t think I could have let you go alone.”

Theo said nothing, he did not think his face betrayed the way his insides seized. The breath he suddenly held.

The way Boris looked at him, his eyes filled with love, and sadness. Like when Theo had told him he had taken Russian in school as a way to remind himself of Boris, to feel closer to him.

He let out a small breath as he confessed to Boris, “Do you remember what you said about your alcoholism?”

“Yes?” Boris offered.

“How you thought it would kill you one day.”

“Ah yes. True I think.”

“When I think about dying, you’re always there. I don’t know the how, but I see us, lying next to a pool, the stars wide above us, side by side confessing our secrets until we’re gone.”

A slight twitch in Boris's arm told him everything he needed to know. Someone who knew him less well might think Boris was ready to strike him for such dark and stupid thoughts. But Theo knew better, Boris always knew when to reach out.

In the dark corner of his mind, he knew he had told Boris this for another reason. An insurance policy. To know that Boris would be a little less reckless and fearless. That having Theo’s life attached to his would make him more careful.

Theo’s twisted inner thoughts and hidden parts were not so foreign to him that he did not know how he would react if he ever received the news Boris had died without him. He knew he would not last much longer in a world without him.

God, why had they come to this bar?

They stumbled back to Boris’s hotel, laughing and sharing dirty jokes, but as they passed other guests and the receptionist's gaze Theo made sure they looked like no more than drunk college buddies, meeting up again to reminisce about their glory days.

When they entered Boris’s room he spotted his passport and a plane ticket tucked under the TV.

“You won’t disappear again will you?” it was a childish question, but those years when Boris had cut off contact had been suffocating. He didn’t like to think about how badly he took their separation. Boris’s abandonment. He didn’t think he could go through it again. The absence of Boris.

“No Potter.”

Theo relaxed against the couch. He hated hotel couches, stiff and unlived in.

Boris produced more alcohol and drugs, “The minor stuff,” he appeased.

In their haze they grew stupid once more, Boris opened up the packs of peanuts in the mini-fridge and tossed them into Theo’s mouth from across the room.

“Aim better!”  
“I am! You keep moving!”

They talked about women.

“You could get her back if you want.”  
“I think she would disagree.”

About what it was like to shoot a gun.

“You get use to recoil.”  
“I don’t want to.”

Old movies and old celebrities.

“Where do you put your money? Bogart having huuuge penis, or Bacall having amazing pussy?”  
“How would we even find the answer to that?”

They talked about Boris’s wife and children

“When was the last time you saw them?”  
“A while ago?”  
“Don’t you miss them?”  
“No. Why should I?”  
“But don’t you love them?”  
“Of course.”  
“Then why don’t you miss them?”  
“If I miss them - I go see them. Then I want to stay. Then maybe bad things happen. Then they hate me, and maybe I hate them. Then what’s the point?”

At some point, they collapsed into the king-sized bed, but they still sat shoulder to shoulder as _12 Angry Men_ played on the TV. Boris slouched down until his head rested against Theo’s shoulder. They sipped beer and smoked as the movie played on.

“Are you happy?”

He’s not sure if Boris asked him, or if he’d asked Boris.

“I’m happier here.”  
“What about you?”  
“Happy here too.”

He’s not sure what suddenly prompted him, though he knew his courage came from the liquor and drugs. Some might say it was more ingenuine that way, but it was the only way Theo knew how to be honest with himself. He confessed it all to Boris. The future he _could_ see for himself.

When Boris is in New York for those few of weeks throughout the year, he wants them to be together. Then when Boris goes back, sometimes Theo will visit instead. Sometimes he’ll ask in advance, and sometimes he will just show up. Sometimes Boris won’t be home, so Theo will only linger for a few days - making his place lived in - so Boris knows he was there. When Boris comes home and realizes he has missed Theo, he will come to New York for just a few days to make up for missing him. And then they will repeat. Over and over again.

Boris looks up at him, face open, but not showing anything, “We should have brought Popchyk.”

“What the fuck man?”

“It be perfect! Filled circle!”

Theo groaned and turned away to put his beer on the bedside table - only he missed and the bottle tumbled to the ground. The remnants soaking the carpet. They’d have to tip well.

The movie still played in the background, but that brief glimpse into his inner thoughts had left Theo exhausted - and he could feel himself begin to drift off.

He and Boris woke again a few hours later to the sound of Boris’s drunk neighbours stumbling into their own room.

Theo reached for a cigarette - lighting it up for the two of them to share.

“In this future of ours,” Boris suddenly spoke, voice raspy from sleep, “When do you see us dying?”

“I don’t know,” Theo answered honestly and took the smoke from Boris so as to not think too much about it.

Boris hummed in acknowledgment.

“A few weeks only once a year is too short. I am wealthy man, why should I be limited?” They slumped against the back of the bed, half facing each other, “You never know, work could bring me here more often I think. Your politics is very fucked up right now, creates interesting opportunities.”

They burst out laughing and kept laughing until the drunk neighbours banged on their shared wall.

And it was quiet.


End file.
